The Convention: Through a Fisheye Lens

Ever look through a peephole out into your corner of the world? The surrounding landscape takes on a global appearance… your car, your mailbox, that shrub at the corner of the house all look rounded and surreal. Now look through that fisheye lens at someone you don’t really know but is expected. What features do you see, which ones do you tend to gloss over and which ones set this first impression into the stone slabs of your mind?

Keep that fish-eyed metaphor in the forefront of your reading eyes and mind as you scan deeper into my recollections of the fourth annual convention of Writing.Com.

That glass eye was instrumental in the start of this year's experience as I looked through it onto the face of a stranger. I knew opening that door would change more than my life, more than his and more than the other passengers of the DuckLove Dairy Express Party Bus. Standing on the other side of the wooden opening was WildThing~Becoming , the first of six other passengers to arrive. The door was opened and greetings were exchanged. Although he took his name from the fabled book of “Where the Wild Things Are” he was anything but wild, until the music at the formal dinner played. I’ll talk about that later.

It was 12:30 Thursday morning; the struggles of throwing nine eccentric writers into a 15-passenger van with their luggage, snacks and entertainment were overcome. The engine purred like a large jungle cat chasing after a helpless gnu. The road, the ride and the convention loomed ahead.

Finally the long winding road ended at the base of the castle that was the Holiday Inn. We embarked upon our journey into the realm of the king and queen of Writing.Com. They were holding court in the Writing.Com Lounge. Our arrival wasn’t announced by rows of trumpet playing soldiers, a town crier, or even an armed palace guard wearing red. The glass eye of my mind won’t allow me to remember who was the first person to recognize me and exclaim that now infamous greeting, “Moo”, but heads were turned, card games were put on hold and the The StoryMistress and catwoman smiled and directed me towards the registration desk. For identification purposes they made me show them the most sacred of sacred stuffed bovines, my Bovine Bessie .

Here is where my fish-eye rounds off my mental images, this is where strangers become friends and last year's friends become family in our little writer's world. No tote bag of Writing.Com can ever hold all of my convention memories, nor will my recollection of them in these words.

Within 30 minutes of our arrival to the hotel we escorted the The StoryMaster and The StoryMistress out to the parking lot to see the DuckLove Dairy Party Express bus and our artwork that adorned the windows. The laughs started and so did the official convention memories.

Later that evening we gathered together for a dinner and the “Get to know you” games. Unfortunately my team didn’t do very well with the games (I blame the newbies for this, me and Marc B from CT were surrounded by five of them… Midnight Dawn , Jax: Not here. , novusfemina to name a few). It also could be the way the tables were situated and the way that we sat.

Once dinner plates were cleared, tables moved out of the way, and the stage was set for the night's festivities the Live Campfires took place. I’m always a favorite to be in a campfires, even back on the site for my wit and grace under pressure (I can dream). The first story embarked on the fairytale/Brother’s Grimm side when we were asked to prove the real identity of Little Red Riding Hood, rumors had us believing that it was the Story Mistress. elizm446 was also in the search of a tall dark man in the woods. The second story hit a little close to home when Elisa, Stik 15K started her tale with Bovine Bessie . My poor girl was subjected to talking trees, sharks and a successful career on Wall Street.

The planned activities ended, but most of us went into the hotel to find more fun, make new friends and rekindle old experiences. This is where the rumors started that Bessie was no longer the convention slut since she had remembered to bring her under garments. That “slut” label was pinned on me by no other than the Story Master himself after he tried to walk into a room that was occupied by four women and myself. I told the SM that he had to leave because he was disrupting my ratio.

The next morning all of us sleep deprived Writing.Com members gathered together for scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage and toast. From previous years this meal was sort of subdued (I blame the newbies again) and Diane was actually behaving herself.

After breakfast we broke out our writer’s caps and pens and headed for the creative sessions. These are basically the same thing as campfires except you have a time limit and you have to write out your entry in cursive. This year we had a poem writing session which is, to me, more difficult than writing a paragraph or two in 3 minutes. Another added feature was “Humorous or Serious”; we had a choice to be funny or straight faced the whole campfire. I don’t think I have to tell you which one I picked.

Later that evening it was time for the most talked about event of the whole weekend… yes that would be my opening Stand-up Comedy routine. I didn’t have them rolling in the aisles this year but I did have about 20 people doing the “Hokey Pokey” (This I won’t blame on the newbies, because they were the ones doing it…) I like to think that I’m funnier than I actually am but there are some really talented people at Writing.Com, people like the guitar playing sensation Zoo - Salted and Roasted and the angelic voiced Sherri . These two people should be on a record label singing and playing to the masses.

Saturday, July 23rd started off with another plate of eggs, bacon, sausage and toast. Diane was still on her best behavior (those newbies got into everything). The talk of the town was the Creative Auction, the Story Master as auctioneer and of course his two “Price-Is-Right” Seniors, Zoo - Salted and Roasted and MOO for President . These creative auctions, as always, brings another facet to the person behind the handle or username. Some people go all out in their item for auction. It just amazes me what a creative mind and 25 dollars can create. This auction also brought the real Diane to the convention but she was out done in the end by elizm446. From the opening bid to the last “Sold” the auction was a frenzied cat fight for each item… Credit cards were stretched to their limit and carry on bags were taped shut to fit them on planes.

At six o’clock Saturday evening the writer’s were tucked into their beds and their alter egos came out for a night of dancing and fine food and drink. The SM and SMs were ready to renew their vows in their wedding attire. Samuel Clemons, a duck, his bride, a “Flapper”, and a Diva Cow all made an appearance. There were many other special appearances but to describe them all would give you no reason to want to attend next year.

The evening ended like it has in all of the previous convention…a big circle dance to the songs, “Friends in Low Places”, (Sorry Garth if that is wrong) and “We Are Family” by Sister Sledge.

The last day of the convention is always the hardest. This is the day when you can sneak in that last non-virtual hug and when you can actually Laugh Out Loud.

The fish-eye lens was gentle to my memories. Even though I'm losing some of the events that happened around me I’ll always remember the friends I made, the family ties I strengthened and the love that we all shared. I hope to see each and everyone of you there next year.